


Sweet descend this rabble round

by Toothless



Series: coil my tongue [3]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always a Girl!Raylan, Childhood, F/M, First Time, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toothless/pseuds/Toothless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd loved her before her face and her tits and her ass. Boyd loved her when he thought she was a boy and when she got him beaten up by Bowman and his cousins and when she spit in his lunch during their three week hate-you-forever-and-ever-period in fifth grade. </p>
<p>Boyd’s loved her like the oldest stories of love, like a drop of water in the desert in the hands of a thirsting man. </p>
<p>That doesn’t mean that she trusts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet descend this rabble round

i.

The first time Boyd remembers seeing Raylan Givens, she’d been five years old and dressed for church. At first glance he’d thought it was a boy in a dress. A frilly, peach-pink dress and lacquered black shoes, cream-white socks with ribbons of trim around them. Her knees had been scraped up real bad, scrapes and cut all over, the edges of them blue-black and dark red mess of still not coagulated blood.

She’d had that angry set to her mouth, that flat unpleasant horizon her future self would grow into cultivating like it was straight road to freedom, five years old in her pink Sunday dress, knees scraped to hell and fistful of light brown strands of hair peeking from in-between her fisted little fingers. Dickie Bennett had been on his stomach, face in the dirt and sniffling.

He loved her then, he thinks, at least a little. A little grows into a lot, like a seedling taking root. He imagines she must have felt it like a tree, anchored to the earth, shackling her. He imagines that’s why she ran.

 

ii.

Raylan bucks up against him, squirming like a cat in heat, hates that she feels this way, but driven by it all the same. Feels the hot slide of him inside her, herself clamping down, vicious and wet and angry. The tempest of a stormy sea, pulling dark ships to the bottom of the world.  

Boyd’s fingers grip around her upper-arms like vices, like his drowning and she’s the bayou keeping him afloat. She hates him for it, hates him for making her want him like this, making her vulnerable. She keeps seeing Frances’ face atop the bedspread, her eyes staring up at nothing, her limbs like white, silk bands, limp and dead. She _hates_.

Raylan hates so deep, so true that she can feel something hard and cold like ice burning her up from the inside, licking her, piercing her through the chest. She thinks she’s dying for a moment, ‘cause her breath’s gone, vanished from her lungs and she’s cramping - bad. Her vision gives out, blacks out. Drops, like condensation on a window plane, spreading oil-thick over her eyes. In the darkness, all she can hear is the _lub-dub lub-dub_ of her own heart.

And then it’s over and she’s crashing back – to Earth, to Kentucky to bloody Harlan county - she’s ontop of Boyd fucking Crowder, who’s staring at her as if she is the second coming and Christmas morning all wrapped up in one, his fingers curled around her hips now, mouth open and devout and she thinks, crazily, _I’ve made a Christian out of you_.

They sleep like the dead, un-mourned and peaceful. Raylan knows it can’t last.

 

iii.

Boyd is her greatest ally and friend. He also has her darkest secrets in his hands, thin and fragile like spider webs and she know he can pull any of the strings and she’ll unravel. Every pattern erased.

Boyd loved her before her face and her tits and her ass. Boyd loved her when he thought she was a boy and when she got him beaten up by Bowman and his cousins and when she spit in his lunch during their three week hate-you-forever-and-ever-period in fifth grade.

Boyd’s loved her like the oldest stories of love, like a drop of water in the desert in the hands of a thirsting man.

 

That doesn’t mean that she trusts him.

 

 


End file.
